


Oh Darling

by Claudina



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Baby Goro is adorable and so much fun to write, Goro-centric, M/M, Melancholy with a sweet ending, birthday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 21:44:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11090538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claudina/pseuds/Claudina
Summary: Growing up was never easy for anyone, but Goro Akechi knew that growing up as an unwanted child was even harder.





	Oh Darling

**Author's Note:**

> Happy belated birthday, Goro Akechi! We love you even if so many people won't.
> 
> I wanted to publish this on Goro's birthday on the 2nd, but things happened and I couldn't finish it on time. Nonetheless, I hope you'll enjoy reading this; it would be a little hard at the beginning and in the middle, but I promise it gets better. As always, kudos and comments will be loved, and it will help me greatly if you could let me know your thoughts about my writing style here (because I'm thinking of using a similar style for another Shuake story). Thank you so much for dropping by! :)

**One**

The cake was modest—a stack of three pancakes with honey and tufts of whipped cream on top. When a pair of baby hands, guided gently by an adult hand, arrived with a dining knife to land the first blow, the doughy tower sank and split readily under the soft pressure, its airy texture offering no resistance to the seemingly harmless weapon. It was cut up into tiny cubes, and when the baby tasted it, he smiled happily and snuggled closer to the adult holding him, obviously enjoying his first-ever bite of a cake. The lady laughed and gave him a kiss to the temple, causing the baby to giggle. His tiny fingers reached for the food, and for once, he was allowed to have as much sugar as he wanted.

Bits and bobs of cream-laced pancakes disappeared past his tiny baby lips, and in return, he spat out baby talks and giggles, evidently an appropriate exchange for the sweets. The three adults surrounding him cooed over and doted on him, laughing at how his bright eyes were trained on the pancakes intently, with him only shifting his focus to charm the adults around him to feed him more pancakes. When everything had migrated into his little tummy, baby Goro looked up at his mother and gave her a kiss on the cheek, mouth opened, sticky with honey. In return, his mother nuzzled her nose into his hair, breathing in his soft baby smell, and cuddled him close, never willing him to grow up and face the hurt of the world. Goro curled himself tight in his mother’s arms, his little body fitting snugly into the mould of her embrace. Precious, precious baby boy. How much more time would she have before he could no longer fit in her arms?

_Oh darling, don’t you ever grow up._

 

* * *

 

**Two**

As Goro’s age doubled, so did the size of his cake. It was vanilla sponge dressed in silky-smooth powder blue buttercream that looked like the summer sea, sitting daintily on a cake stand. From underfoot, Goro stared at the cake with wide eyes, the sheer height of the table making it tower above him. A few adults milled around, but no one paid much attention to the little boy, all busy with their own businesses. Realising the opportunity, he folded some icing from the base onto his cheeky fingers every now and then, giggling behind the adults’ unknowing backs as he licked sugar off his hand. It wasn’t until the celebration was about to start that the adults realised that half of the icing was missing from the bottom of the cake. Goro attempted to pull off his tried-and-true method of feigning innocence—wide eyes, pouty lips—to spare himself but his blue-tinted lips and messy fingers betrayed his cherubic expression.

He was promptly scolded for his mischief and as expected from a two-year-old, he cried the roof down. However, as expected from a two-year-old, he was quickly distracted by the flicker of candles that lit up on his poked-and-prodded cake, and by the time he was served a slice proper, he had forgotten about the incident, happily gobbling up his share of the cake and accepting the extra icing snuck into his mouth by the other attendants. When he kissed his mother’s cheek, the blue on his lips tainted her skin, and she smiled at him still, even as the blue feeling inside her rose and bubbled to meet the same colour outside.

 

* * *

 

**Three**

Terrible two might be bad, but it was nothing compared to his so-called threenager year. Goro was naturally precocious and cheeky, and even though he was also more well-behaved than many of his peers, he just had to do what three-year-olds got to do. And three-year-olds were _stubborn_ , so when Goro insisted that he wanted to make his own cake, the only option available for his mother was to allow him, because what else could she do?

The cake was oddly shaped, a deflated brownie with lashings of peanut butter and confetti of gummy bears, sugar shells and sprinkles on top. Three candles were jammed haphazardly into the centre of the deformed cake. Nearby, the chocolatey real estate housed a crumbling gingerbread hut, vanilla icing dribbling down its walls. A few shards of gingerbread men surrounded the hut, slanted eyes and crooked smiles adorning their delicious faces.

Goro stared at the cake intently, one hand squeezing the piping bag and the other submerged in a bowl of chocolate shavings. He hummed a jingle he always heard during morning television as butter flowers bloomed from the tip of the piping bag. The army of gummy bears soon succumbed to the avalanche, drowning in buttercream. Goro looked up at his mother, who was sitting on the couch a few feet away, and jumped excitedly. A clump of his hair, matted by a smear of peanut butter, bobbed up and down. His mother gave him a small smile, and his aunt, who was sitting beside her, laughed and approached Goro.

“Let’s eat the cake! I made it!” Goro announced when his aunt reached his side. He seemed to have forgotten that the proper procedure was to blow the candles first—not that it mattered, since the only attendants were his mother and his aunt.

He cut a large slice of the brownie and served it to his mother, who was still sitting on the couch. She hadn’t been feeling too well as of late and her appetite had been non-existent, but a three-year-old proved to be very stubborn and she had little choice but to take at least a bite. The paradoxical juxtaposition of various sweets proved to taste very overwhelming, but she liked it anyway. It was like the child, she couldn’t help but think. Made of nothing but sweet things, but shouldn’t have existed in the first place.

Still, she loved him all the same, even though everyone around her made her feel like she shouldn’t. What else could she do? She looked into her son’s eyes and smiled softly. Goro, in return, grinned, and offered her more cakes. She ate it again, out of love for her child.

Because, really, what _else_ could she do?

 

* * *

 

**Four**

The cake was black, and not in the haute-couture way. Goro stared at the charred cake in front of him solemnly as his mother paced frantically in the kitchen, banging the doors of everything she got her hands on. The oven was slammed shut. The cabinets shook from the quake. The drawers quivered, not used to the rough treatment. Flour and egg shells littered the floor. If the oil spills that stained the kitchen had happened outside, it would probably have been classified as an environmental hazard. Goro had to gingerly manoeuvred himself through patches of raw food to reach out to his mother.

“Mama, it’s okay,” he sincerely declared. “I don’t need a cake.”

“Oh no, dear. Of course you do,” his mother retorted softly, wild eyes scanning the counters for her whisk. She marched methodically to retrieve it when she found it, and then jammed the utensil harshly into the bowl she was holding. Yellow droplets sprayed to the air as she vigorously whisked the egg yolks inside.

Goro could only stare as his mother stuffed the pan full of batter into the oven and, once again, slammed its door shut. The little boy thought that maybe the oven had absorbed and used the heat of his mother’s anger to bake the cake, which was why none of them had turned out well today. He decided that the wisest move was to sit quietly at the dining table, watching his mother throwing him a half-grin from where she was standing, and hearing her cursing yet again when this cake didn’t come out right either.

At four, Goro knew his words well, but he didn’t know how to say it to his mother, who was on her way to attempt baking yet another cake for his birthday. The words tasted so heavy on his tongue that he could only swallow them back to his throat where they choked him. He wished he didn’t, but he couldn’t do otherwise.

_I don’t need a cake, Mama._

_I just need you._

 

* * *

 

**Ten**

The cake was foreign to him, and he was almost afraid to touch it, lest he destroyed its delicate structure. His foster parents had presented the giant pavlova to him with wide smiles, coaxing him gently to make a wish before cutting into it. Goro had been rather jaded by then, but the two weeks he spent with his new foster parents were easily the best in the past six years, and he clung to the hope that his life would turn for the better this time. He whispered a quick wish in his heart, a simple one, really: _I want to be happy._ Then the candles were blown out to the eruptive cheering of his foster parents, and when Goro accepted the first bite of the cake, fed to him by his foster mother, for the first time in a few years, he thought that there indeed _was_ a light at the end of the tunnel, and for once, it didn’t flicker like an emergency exit.

Obviously, he was such a fool to believe that. Life just had to destroy his hope again; it just had to. Before the next summer arrived, his foster parents had to return to where they came from and just as luck would have it, they couldn’t bring him with them. Of course. Who was he kidding? How could he be so dumb to dare himself to hope? It only hurt, indeed it only did. Life must be laughing at him, an unwanted child who wished so dearly to turn the vicious tide around, when in reality, he was only allowed one—only one—breach to the surface to gulp a breath of air before drowning again. Of course. He should have known. He should have learnt.

He never did dare to hope again; hope dissolved as fast as the pavlova did in his mouth.

Expectations were the root of all heartaches, after all.

 

* * *

 

**Thirteen**

The cake was not a cake, and it was a gift from his class president. He hadn’t expected her to visit him on his birthday, carrying a small box from a nearby bakery. It was a good thing that he spied her approaching as he looked out of his window; his foster mother didn’t like unexpected guests. Slipping past his foster mother's room as quietly as he could, Goro raced to halt his classmate before she could show up to his door. She looked at him quizzically, expecting an explanation. It never came.

Nevertheless, she handed the box over to him with a small smile, saying that she took note of everyone’s birthdays from the student data that she got with her. Goro could only nod and whisper a small thank you, half-puzzled and half-embarrassed that someone would actually remember his birthday and bother to celebrate it. He shuffled awkwardly on the spot and the class president gave him a polite bow and smile before leaving. When Goro opened the box, a small marshmallow sandwich cookie sat inside. His strict, health-conscious foster mother never approved of conventional sweets; he couldn’t possibly bring the sandwich cookie home. Goro wolfed it down before he returned to the house, and in his rush to devour the cookie, he never got to appreciate the chewy, fudgy chocolate cookie and the sticky, sweet marshmallow properly. Still, the sweet treat filled his heart with so much joy, and even though its taste was fleeting on his tongue, he thought that he could taste something else: how it felt to be celebrated. To be remembered. To be wanted. Truly, after being given a taste of how it felt like, what _else_ could he do but continue to chase after that feeling?

 

* * *

 

**Fifteen**

The cake was a life-saver.

He almost threw up as he exited the Metaverse, head spinning and eyes focusing on way too many things at once. Overhead lights pulsed bright and the ground underneath shook; he had to brace his body close to earth to steady himself. Only after the awful nausea had gone past he allowed himself to test his feet. They were a little wobbly but stable enough to bring him away from where he had emerged back in the real world.

He felt weak, for he had absolutely nothing inside his system to fuel him. He cursed himself for forgetting to eat, but it was becoming quite a habit, for eating was quite a time-waster and he didn’t have time to spend on mundane things, not when he had more interesting things to do. Nonetheless, when he passed by a bakery on his way home, a tall, delicate soufflé caught his attention. It looked as soft as cloud, and it must have been nice to sink into it, so he got it for himself. It was his birthday and he no longer stayed in a foster home—he could do what he wanted.

The soufflé wasn’t as good as he imagined it would be, but the tiny bites of cloud he ingested leached sugar into his bloodstream and sobered him up a little. His vision clearer now, he could spy a roll of rainclouds marching towards him, all grey and gloomy. Thunder clapped as everything was veiled in the dull shadow of the storm that swept over the place. Within minutes, the city was drenched in rain, rendering its inhabitants running for cover.

The soufflé deflated under the torrential shower, but Goro didn’t make any attempt to move over or seek shelter. He stood quietly, letting the rain fall over him as his eyes fluttered shut, because he heard it once and maybe it would be true: _rain would wash away everything if you let it._ The rain soaked him to his bones and his insides thrummed from the chill and the sugar in his blood. Goro looked up and forced a smile, and as he did so, a sliver of warmth kissed his wet cheeks. And even though no one around him was the wiser, he himself knew that raindrops couldn’t be that warm, not even in summer.

 

* * *

 

**Seventeen**

The cake was the only thing he ate the entire day. He had to cut corners to have enough time to run his investigations and study in preparations for college, and he had determined long time ago that eating was one of the biggest time-wasters. However, it was his birthday, and even if he didn’t have the time, he had enough money to waste now, and so he willed himself to go to the most lavish bakery he could think of. He had difficulty carting the gargantuan cake home on his bicycle afterwards, but it emerged unscathed when he unboxed it at home. The three-tier cake stood prettily in front of him, its creamy exterior that was freckled with gold flakes smelling deliciously of rose and honey water. It was truly a cake fit for a prince or a princess, and even Goro’s tired palate could appreciate the soft, gentle burst of flavours the rose lychee cake offered when he gingerly brought a bite to his lips.

But right after his second helping, a surge of self-loathing washed over him and he slapped the cake away in disgust, its pretty shape shattering into lumps and clumps once it hit the floor. Its rosy colour immediately turned dull when contrasted against the sombre colour of his apartment’s floor and Goro laughed sadly. When he tasted a lick of the icing his fingers peeled from the destroyed cake, it no longer tasted as magical as before. It was of no use—no matter how good something was, it would never live up to its potential if it wasn’t wanted.

He gathered the sugary mess and packed it back into its box and brought the cake coffin out to the communal trash bin. Sweet summer moon lit his way softly, but he paid no attention to it; it was not wanted in his life. Nothing was worth it. The world was tiring. It truly was. Sometimes he wished that he never grew up at all. Other times, he wished that he would just die.

Tonight, he wished for both: he wished that he never grew up and had died young. Or even better still: he wished that he had never been born at all.

 

* * *

 

**Eighteen**

The cake was modest—a stack of five pancakes with honey and a knob of butter on top. Icing sugar dusted the dark-coloured plate, leaving hollowed-out spaces where it read ‘Happy birthday!’ When a pair of adult hands arrived with a knife and a fork, the stack sank dramatically before giving way, revealing the hidden rainbow-coloured cream tucked between each layer. It was carefully diced and speared, and the first bite slipped through a pair of smiling lips which curled even higher once the sweet treat landed on his tongue. Before him, Akira Kurusu smiled as well, curiously watching Goro with sweet eyes as he continued to imbibe on sugar.

Goro’s smile was the only thing he offered in exchange for the pancakes, but it was more than enough, for it was attached to a living, breathing human, the one who chose to be there with him and not somewhere else his unbeaten path might have led him to. The smell of coffee wafted up in the air and Akira glided towards the boiling syphon, then drained the hot liquid into a cup and placed it beside Goro.

When the brunette looked up to say thank you, Akira couldn’t help but hold his cheek in his hand. Akira then leaned forward to kiss his temple and Goro leaned softly into his touch, the dipped curvature of his cheekbone fitting snugly into the mould of Akira’s hand. Precious, precious lover. How much more time would they need before they could peacefully sink into each other’s arms? Goro’s eyes focused on Akira’s earnestly, and he thought that no matter how long it took, he would wait willingly, for there was still one lifetime ahead of them.

_My dear, I want to grow old with you._

**Author's Note:**

> The quote "Oh darling, don't you ever grow up" is from Taylor Swift's song, Never Grow Up. I find it very bittersweet, and I listen to it all the time when I try to imagine what kind of childhood these characters might have had.
> 
> The quote "Rain will wash away everything if you let it" is from Sarah Kay's B (which is one of my favourite poems of all time). It's even more beautiful in its entirety, and I highly recommend you to listen to her performance of the poem.


End file.
